What I Did to the Technician While My Husband Was at Work

At forty-two, I understood something nobody had ever told me so clearly: a woman’s body doesn’t age the way people imagine. Fear ages. Patience ages. And above all, the ability to keep waiting for someone who promised to desire you to keep looking at you with longing.

My husband, Ernesto, stopped looking at me that way a long time ago. There was no fight, no conversation. One day I noticed his eyes no longer sought me out when I walked into the room. He looked at me the way you look at a piece of furniture that has been in the same place for years: useful, familiar, invisible.

I am not furniture.

I have the body I have at forty-two: more curves than before, a waist a little less narrow, but hips that draw attention when I walk, big tits that still stand on their own, and a round ass that fills out any pair of pants. Men on the street tell me so, neighbors with their lingering looks, the guy at the hardware store who always finds an excuse to serve me himself. The man I sleep with every night doesn’t tell me that. That man has been coming home for months, asking what’s for dinner, and falling asleep in front of the television without even touching my shoulder.

I don’t complain to anyone. I learned that complaining without acting only makes you feel lonelier.

That afternoon, Ernesto was at work. As always. I was at home in pajamas: a tank top with no bra, my nipples showing through every time the fabric brushed me, and thin-fabric shorts that left more exposed than they covered. My hair was tied up, I had no makeup on, and I was drinking a cold coffee in front of the laptop when the internet cut out for the third time that week.

I called the company. They told me they’d send someone that same day.

Forty minutes later, someone arrived.

***

Rodrigo was around thirty, maybe thirty-two. Dark-skinned, with the broad shoulders of a man who actually does physical work, not one who lifts weights in a gym to look good in photos. His hands were large, his knuckles pronounced, and he carried a toolbox he set down beside the door with the ease of someone who walked into other people’s houses every day. Because he did.

—Good afternoon —he said—. I’m here for the service ticket.

He looked me up and down without even trying to hide it. Not in a crude way. In a direct, honest way, which is very different. His eyes landed on my tits for two seconds before rising to my face, and he didn’t drop his gaze, embarrassed. He held it.

—Come in —I said, and led him down the hall.

I noticed how he looked at me again when I turned to guide him. I didn’t play innocent. I let my hips do what they do when I walk without bothering to hide them, which is no small thing, and I felt his eyes glued to my ass all the way down the hall.

—The router’s in the bedroom —I explained—. This way.

He followed without saying a word, and I liked that silence more than any comment.

I sat him in the desk chair and stood by the bed, watching him check the cables. He had that calm concentration of someone who knows what he’s doing. His arms stood out when he pulled the cable back. The uniform shirt fit tight across his shoulders, and I found myself watching the way he moved, calculating, measuring the bulge I could make out in his pants when he bent down.

—Do you want something to drink? —I asked.

He looked at me over his shoulder.

—It’s not necessary, ma’am. I won’t be long.

—I’m not ma’am —I said—. My name is Valeria.

A tiny pause. A smile he controlled before it became too visible.

—Valeria. All right.

I went to the kitchen for two glasses of lemonade. When I came back, he was crouched by the wall outlet, with his back to me. I took a moment to watch him before announcing I was back. Then I set the glass on the desk and crouched beside him under the excuse of seeing what he was checking. My shirt opened in the front and my tits hung out, nipples hard and pointing right at him. It wasn’t an accident.

Rodrigo lifted his eyes slowly.

He stayed like that, looking, for two long seconds that were worth many more.

—Do you mind if I look? —I asked softly, not pretending I meant the cable.

—No —he said. And that single syllable said everything.

***

I stood up slowly, letting him look at my tits as I rose. He did the same. We were less than a meter apart, and I could feel the heat coming off his body, that real heat of someone who works with his hands and doesn’t spend the day sitting in an office. I looked at the bulge without hiding it. It was already swelling in his pants, thick against the uniform fabric.

—My husband works until eight —I said. Not as a warning. As information.

Rodrigo nodded slowly.

—I finish wherever I’m told to finish —he replied.

I liked that. I liked the calm way he said it, unhurried, not acting like this was some extraordinary situation. He was a man who knew how to be in a moment without ruining it with too many words.

I put a hand on his chest, slid it down his stomach, and took it without hesitation to the bulge. I squeezed it through his pants. It was hard, thick, hot even through the fabric. He didn’t move. He just looked at me, waiting, his breathing a little heavier.

—Do you know how long it’s been since anyone touched me like I mattered? —I asked, still squeezing his cock.

—No —he said—. But I can do that now, if you want.

I wanted it. I’d been wanting it for months without knowing exactly what that wanting was.

When he kissed me, he didn’t hurry. He slid his tongue into my mouth with the slow confidence of a man with no intention of finishing fast. He ran his hands along my sides, yanked my shirt up in one motion until my tits were bare, and took them both in his hands, squeezing with a firmness that made me close my eyes and let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He pinched my nipples between his fingers and I moaned against his mouth, biting his lower lip.

—It’s been a long time since anyone squeezed me like that —I murmured against his mouth.

—Then that time’s over —he answered.

He lowered his mouth to my tits and sucked them one at a time, taking my nipples fully into his mouth, nibbling them carefully and sucking again. I dug my hands into his hair and pushed his face against me, asking for more without words. I felt his hand slip into my shorts, shove the fabric aside, and go straight between my legs. His fingers found me wet, soaked, wetter than I’d expected even myself.

—You’re all wet —he said, his mouth still on my breast.

—I’ve been like this for months —I told him—. Months.

He ran two fingers along the lips of my cunt, up and down, not going in yet, playing with how wet I was. He brushed my clit with the pad of his thumb and I spread my legs wider, leaning into him so I wouldn’t fall. When he finally shoved two fingers into me all the way, a long, filthy moan escaped me that I’d had stored up for months.

He guided me to the bed without taking his fingers out. He sat on the edge and pulled me onto his lap, my knees on either side of his hips, while he kept sliding them in and out in a slow rhythm that was driving me crazy. I fumbled with his pants, unbuttoned them, and pulled down his boxer briefs just enough to get his cock out. It was thick, dark, bigger than I’d already imagined, the head swollen with a clear bead beading at the tip.

I wrapped my hand around it and looked at it for a second, shamelessly.

—I haven’t seen one like this in years —I said.

—Suck it —he asked, almost in a whisper.

I slid off his lap, knelt on the floor between his legs, and took him into my mouth in one go, all that would fit. Rodrigo let out a growl and put a hand on the back of my neck, not pushing, just accompanying. I ran my tongue along the whole length, from base to tip, sucking the head with my lips tight, pulling back only to spit on it and take him back in deep. My mouth filled with saliva and he got harder, if that was even possible. I licked his balls too, one and then the other, while I kept stroking him with my hand.

—You’re going to make me come right now —he said, his voice thick.

—Not yet —I answered, and climbed back onto the bed.

I pulled off his shirt. He finished tearing off mine and yanked my shorts down, leaving me naked on top of him.

He stared at me for a moment, saying nothing.

—You look incredible —he said at last, his eyes traveling over my tits, my stomach, the shaved cunt at eye level for him. Not like a polite compliment. Like someone stating a fact.

—I know —I replied—. Though sometimes I need someone to remind me.

He laid me down on the bed and worked his way down my body with his mouth, leaving a wet trail from my neck to my navel. When he spread my legs and buried his face between my thighs, I knew he wasn’t the kind of man who does this out of obligation. He licked my cunt all over with a flat, long tongue, from bottom to clit, and when he got there he stayed, sucking it, circling it with the tip of his tongue, alternating with two fingers he slid in and out at a rhythm that made my entire back arch.

—Yes, like that, don’t stop —I begged, gripping his hair.

He didn’t stop. He ate my pussy like his life depended on it, sucking, licking, pushing his tongue into me, going back up to my clit again. A tremor began building in my legs and I felt the first orgasm bearing down on me almost before I had time to prepare. I clamped my thighs around his head and came against his mouth, moaning loudly, not caring about anything, soaking his face.

When he lifted his head, his chin was shiny and he had a half smile.

—You’re salty —he said—. I like it.

I shoved him backward onto the bed and got on top of him, straddling his hips. His eyes never left me for a second.

—Tell me what you want —he said.

—Everything —I answered—. I want everything.

***

What came after was something I hadn’t lived with that intensity in a very long time. I don’t know if it was him, or me, or simply the hunger built up over months of cold nights beside someone who no longer wanted me.

I grabbed his cock with my hand, ran it along the lips of my cunt from top to bottom, wetting the head with what was already dripping from me, and slowly lowered myself onto him, taking him in millimeter by millimeter until I felt all of him inside. A moan slipped out when I finally sat down. He was thick, stretching me, filling me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

—Fuck —he said, squeezing my hips—. You’re so tight.

—And you have a huge cock —I shot back.

I started moving on top of him, up and down, my hands braced on his chest. Rodrigo watched my tits bounce in his face and every now and then lifted his head to suck a nipple without me stopping riding him. He gripped my ass with both hands, parting my cheeks, guiding me, setting the rhythm.

—Like this, fuck me like this —I begged—. Hard.

He began driving upward from below, shoving it deeper with each thrust. The bed creaked. I moaned without any shame, leaning harder into him, moving faster and faster. We were both sweating in the dim light of that room that had so many times felt like the loneliest place in the house. That afternoon was something else.

—Turn me over —I asked.

He pulled out with a jerk, flipped me, and put me on all fours on the mattress. He positioned himself behind me, spread my ass cheeks with both hands, and shoved back in with one thrust, all the way. I screamed into the pillow. He started fucking me hard, gripping my hips, pulling me back with every thrust, making my ass slam against his pelvis. The sound of skin against skin filled the whole room.

—Take it all, all of it —I told him, fists clutching the sheets—. Break me.

He slapped my ass, making my cunt squeeze around his cock. He groaned with pleasure and hit me again. He slid a hand into my hair, tugged gently, made me lift my head while he kept hammering into me from behind.

—Tell me you’ve been wanting this for months —he said in my ear, never stopping fucking me.

—Months —I answered, moaning—. Months wanting someone to fuck me like this.

The second orgasm hit me all at once, with my teeth clenched and my fingers dug into the sheets. My whole body tightened around his cock and he had to hold still for a moment so he wouldn’t come too.

—Not yet —I panted—. Don’t come yet.

He didn’t stop. He started moving again, slower, letting me recover my rhythm, but without pulling out, keeping me full.

***

—Can I ask you for something? —he said, at some point between one thing and the next, his forehead pressed against my back.

—You’ve been asking me for things without words for a while now and I’ve been saying yes —I replied—. Talk.

—I want to fuck you in the ass —he told me, like that, without embellishment—. My wife never lets me.

He said it without shame or detour, and I liked that more than the request itself.

—Yes —I said.

—Are you sure?

—If I weren’t, I wouldn’t say it. But go slow. I haven’t done it in many years.

I settled onto my stomach, with a pillow under my hips to lift my ass toward him. I felt him spit on his hand and run it over his cock. Then he spit on me, between my cheeks, and ran two fingers around my asshole, wetting me, pressing little by little, letting me get used to it. He put one in first, then two, moving them slowly until I opened up.

—Breathe —he told me.

He set the head against me and pushed, very slowly. There was tension at first, that discomfort you have to move through calmly, and I focused on controlling my breathing, on relaxing, on taking him. When the head passed through I moaned into the pillow and bit my lip. He kept pushing, millimeter by millimeter, until I felt his hips pressed against my ass. He was all the way in.

—Are you okay? —he asked. He was still still.

—Yes —I said—. Move slowly.

He did. Very slowly at first, sliding almost all the way out and then back in with a slowness that had me twisting underneath him. Then a little faster, and I followed him, searching for the rhythm, until the discomfort became something completely different, a dirty, new pleasure rising up my whole back. His hands held my hips with that firmness I already knew and that was all I needed to feel at that moment. I pushed back to meet him. He understood and sped up.

—All of it —I begged—. Put all of it in me.

I slipped one hand between my legs and started rubbing my clit while he fucked me from behind. The mix of the two was bringing me to a third orgasm that I could feel building incredibly fast. Rodrigo was hitting me harder, groaning every time he drove all the way in.

—I’m going to come —he said, his voice breaking.

—Come inside —I answered—. I want to feel it.

He sank in one last time to the hilt and squeezed my hips with both hands, groaning long and hard as he came inside me. I felt his cock throbbing in me and the heat of his cum filling me, and with my fingers pinching my clit I came too, clenching around him, soaking his hand and the sheet.

We finished like that, with his forehead resting between my shoulders and both of us catching our breath in the stillness of the afternoon. When he pulled out slowly, I felt the warm semen running down my thigh. I didn’t do anything to clean it off right away. I stayed like that for a moment, lying there, feeling it.

***

Rodrigo got dressed without rushing. He gathered his tools, checked the router one more time, and noted something on his tablet as if this had been just another service call in his day.

—The service should be stable now —he said, with the same calm he’d arrived with.

—Mine too —I replied.

He laughed. A brief, honest laugh, without pretending.

—Save my number —he said—. In case the problem comes back.

I saved it. Not under his real name, but under a code name only I would understand if Ernesto ever checked my phone. You learn those precautions on your own when you’ve spent long enough in a marriage that only works on paper.

I walked him to the door. He said goodbye with a short kiss on the cheek, as if we’d known each other before, as if this were something people did naturally.

I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, not moving.

***

It was six-thirty. Ernesto got home at eight. I took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the semen still between my legs, put on clean clothes, and went to the kitchen to think about what to make for dinner, as if that afternoon had been just another afternoon.

But it hadn’t been.

I sat at the table with a glass of cold water and for the first time in months I didn’t feel angry or sad or resigned. I simply felt present. As if I had come back to inhabit my own body after leaving it abandoned for too long in a room I shared with a stranger.

I didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

When Ernesto got home, he asked what was for dinner and whether I’d seen his keys. I answered both questions with my usual sweetness. He didn’t notice anything. Of course he didn’t notice anything. To notice anything, he would have had to look at me, and he’d stopped doing that a long time ago.

I went to bed before him that night. I lay on my side, closed my eyes, and thought about Rodrigo’s hands on my hips, his cock filling me from front to back. About that afternoon that existed between the walls of my own room, without witnesses, without consequences I hadn’t freely chosen.

I smiled in the dark.

A woman who knows what she’s worth doesn’t wait for someone else to confirm it. She remembers on her own, or she looks for someone to remind her. I had chosen the second. And I would choose it again.